


golden (like daylight)

by emilieee



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Identity Reveal, LadyNoir - Freeform, Marichat, Wing AU, adrienette - Freeform, birb au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:35:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24221419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilieee/pseuds/emilieee
Summary: Who knew getting shot in the side and then thrown off a building would've been the way Ladybug discovered Chat Noir's identity?Marinette definitely wouldn't have guessed.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 38
Kudos: 485





	golden (like daylight)

**Author's Note:**

> cw warning: minor descriptions of blood, wounds, and a bit of gun violence, although there is nothing graphic.

Chat Noir is not present when Ladybug is hit.

It’s a mistake that she’s never made before; somehow, she’d always been able to summon her Lucky Charms in the nick of time, without the akuma’s interference. But this time is different. Chat had been missing the whole fight, not there to watch her back, so when Ladybug throws her yo-yo into the air she is met with blinding pain instead of a magical object. 

It pieces into her side, with enough force to puncture through her suit and send her slamming into the wall a couple of paces away. 

For a moment, shock is the only emotion Ladybug feels. She _understands_ the pain in a disjointed manner, the sort that promises agony but does not yet register as such—and then it finally hits her. 

A bullet. _She’s been shot by a bullet._ Her vision is obscured by tears, too blurry for her to see anything more than a meter away from her. The world stops spinning until all Ladybug can focus on is the fact that her side feels like it’s burning, as if the wound is boring deeper and deeper into her body until it steals her breath and her heartbeat. And on top of that, her earrings have started to beep. 

Ladybug can hear the sharp cackling of the akuma—Sharpshooter—who flits over to her, inky black wings beating behind him, his gun cocked in her direction still. Her wings drag weakly at her back, trembling from effort yet frustratingly useless. Sharpshooter reaches down to grab a handful of her suit. She is hauled to her feet. 

The triumphal smile on his face does not belong to the akuma so much as it belongs to Hawkmoth. “Ladybug,” he sneers. “Look at you. Nothing without Chat Noir, aren’t you?” 

“Put her _down.”_

Both she and Sharpshooter turn to follow the voice. Hovering a couple of paces behind them, black wings beating furiously, is Chat Noir. He’s too far for Ladybug to make out anything more than the vague shape of his figure, but the relief that floods through her is almost strong enough to combat the pain. Chat levels the akuma down with a glare, baton in one hand, his cataclysm burning in the other. When Sharpshooter doesn’t move, Chat raises the baton. “ _Put. Her. Down.”_

For a moment, Ladybug thinks that the akuma just might follow the command. There’s something terrifying in Chat’s voice that chills her, even though his words aren’t directed to her. Perhaps it’s her failing vision, but his eyes seem darker than they usually are, canines elongated. 

Then Sharpshooter throws his head back and laughs. “You want me to put her down?” he snarls back at Chat. “Then go get her.” 

The next thing Ladybug knows is glass shattering like rainfall all around her. The pain tearing through her wings barely register, because before she can focus on them, the wind is taking its turn to rip them apart, feather by feather, like tiny needles jamming into muscle. 

As Ladybug plummets down, she’s lucid enough to understand that she _needs_ to fly. Except the pain in her side is now spreading throughout _all_ her body, turning her movements sluggish. Her wings tremble uselessly behind her, a deadweight. She falls, faster and faster, the ground approaching, terror and pain and helplessness clawing into her throat and choking her with cold fingers. 

_This isn’t supposed to be how I die,_ Ladybug thinks, and with some wild, last minute desperation, she forces her wings open. 

For a split second it works: her fall slows slightly. But it’s not enough to combat the sheer speed she has been tumbling at, and she can only watch as the ground grows closer and closer and—

A streak of black shadow barrels into her. The air is knocked clean out of Ladybug’s lungs. 

She can _feel_ Chat straining to slow their dive. His wings flap fiercely for a couple of short seconds before they envelope her and the impact hits. 

A hard, brutal collision greets them—no, not them, _him_ —as the punishment is absorbed by Chat Noir’s wings and body. He cries out when they hit the ground, rolling to a stop. 

Ladybug lays there, winded and out of breath, nestled safely from the worst of the fall between the giant, dark wings that still shield her. The wound in her side has stopped its incessant agony, instead turning into a sharp ache that she has learned to ignore in favor of worse things. Her wings feel like they’ve been ripped clean from her back from the sheer force of trying to stop the plunge. Before her eyes, her vision flickers and blackens, and Ladybug struggles to keep her eyes open. Sharpshooter’s dark silhouette imprints against the blue of the sky, his weapon pointed at them, but the warning that rises is interrupted when Chat Noir pushes himself to his knees. With trembling effort, he slips a careful arm under her neck and lifts her head up. 

“Ladybug, I’m so sorry,” he breathes. His voice chokes, and Ladybug’s own throat closes at how _terrified_ he sounds. “I was late because I couldn’t get out of the house when I saw the akuma attack and I’m _so, so_ sorry I couldn’t come sooner. I—” 

He is cut off by the shrill beeping of her earrings. Without wasting a beat, Chat Noir’s wings rise around them like a slow, laboured breath, until the blue sky is blotted out by inky black and she is cocooned safely inside a sea of feathers. 

Her transformation slips when the first bullet hits Chat’s wings. 

He doesn’t make a noise of pain; the only sign is the slight flinch of his body. But Marinette can see it: the stain of blood from where the bullet pierces through his wing, then another, then another. 

“What are you doing?” she grinds out. “Chat, please, you’re getting hurt!” 

“What does it look like?” Somehow, he manages a smile. “Protecting you, M’lady.” 

_He knows who I am._ But her identity isn’t the most important thing, not when Chat’s taking _all_ of the fire, his wings straining to keep her shielded. “Chat,” she repeats. “You have to let me help.” 

“Don’t worry.” He winces, one hand moving, and it takes Marinette a moment to realize that he’s reaching for her ears. “I have a plan. I just—I just need to get you somewhere safe, and I need your Miraculous for now. Is that okay?” 

“I can help—” 

“No, you can’t,” he interrupts. “Can I take your Miraculous for this, Marinette?” 

It’s the insistent way Chat says her name that makes her yield. They’ve met plenty of times as Marinette and Chat Noir, but never with this knowledge between them. But the bond between them is still the same; unspoken but strong, full of unconditional trust. And Marinette trusts him with her life. 

“Alright,” she whispers. 

Chat doesn’t waste a heartbeat. He takes them from her carefully, then, without removing his own Miraculous, slips the earrings on. 

“Tikki, spots on.” 

The color that rises from the combination of their Miraculous is one that Marinette cannot explain: it’s not Chat’s green nor her pink, but instead, a kaleidoscope of a spectrum much beyond known words. The color streaks from the Miraculous to his wings, which unfurl as black, white and gold interspersed together. Marinette can still see the bullet wounds of angry crimson, but Chat pays them no heed. Instead, still shielding her from sight, he picks her up gingerly. The claws on his fingers are gone, replaced by spiralling patterns of red and black that dance around each other. They share one look of mutual understanding. 

Then, with one strong wingbeat, he takes off. 

Marinette knows flying and speed. She and Chat have raced, have dived from sky-high, but _this—_ this is another step of intensity altogether. Despite the wounds both of them sport, Chat moves with the same feline grace, even faster than usual. Marinette can practically _feel_ the power of the combined Miraculous thrumming underneath and through his suit, diffusing into her veins as well. 

They lose Sharpshooter in the matter of seconds. He dives through narrow alleys, over and around rooftops, until finally, they land on a highrise. Chat sets her down behind a large billboard. 

“Stay here, and I’ll come find you after I’ve purified the akuma,” Chat tells her, squeezing her hand lightly. 

He turns to leave. Despite her condition, Marinette manages to grab hold of his tail, pulling him to a halt. 

“Chat,” she manages out. 

His gaze is steady. “I’ll be back.” It’s a statement and a promise at the same time. 

“You better,” Marinette tells him. It hurts to smile, but she does it anyway. “I still have to kick your ass for doing something so _stupid.”_

He grins, wounded wings stretching open again. “I wouldn’t miss that for the world, M’lady.” 

He dives off the building in a streak of brilliant, dying color, and Marinette can only wait. 

***

Marinette knows the akuma has been defeated when the bullet wound on her side disappears, the pain in her wings fading until she is able to straighten them fully again.

But she still can’t help but worry when Chat Noir still doesn’t return. She waits, counting the seconds—thirty, sixty, one minute, two, five—but he’s nowhere in sight. He had promised he would come back, but he _hadn’t,_ and given the state she had last seen him in… 

The soft fluttering of wings interrupts her thoughts. Marinette scrambles towards the sound, at the edge of the building, having worked herself into a fever of nervous anticipation. 

The first thing she sees are the wings. 

Bright, golden wings. 

It’s not the stygian black of Chat Noir, nor the palette of colors he had sported with both their Miraculous, yet it’s familiar all the same. 

Adrien Agreste lands in front of her. 

She doesn’t need an explanation. Marinette sees it, as clear as daylight. She understands through unspoken words—she knows _, has known_ deep down, and it’s _right._ Painfully, wonderfully, right. Adrien Agreste is Chat Noir. Adrien Agreste is her partner. 

_Of course._

The nervousness on Adrien’s face melts into shock when Marinette tackles him with a hug. 

His wings, healed, brush against her hands softly. Marinette grips the feathers tightly, burying her face into his shoulder. Slowly, hesitantly, Adrien’s hands creep around her to rest on her back as well. 

“It’s you,” she mumbles into his shoulder. “It’s _you.”_

His body shakes when he laughs. “Does this mean you’re not mad at me? For finding out your identity? And for revealing mine? I thought it wouldn’t be fair if I knew but you didn’t know who I was and it was _you_ so I thought I might as well—” He lets go of her to gesture grandly. “All of this. You’re not mad?” 

“Oh, I’m mad at you.” Marinette pulls back as well. “For being a stupid, noble, self-sacrificing idiot _.”_

“You can kick my ass for that,” Arien promises, albeit a little nervously. “But everything else…?” 

“Getting shot hurt,” she replies. “But maybe ‘everything else’ made it worth it.” 

The smile that spreads over his face is bright like the sun, golden like his wings. “Here,” Adrien said, opening her hand and placing her earrings into them. Then, he adds quietly, “I’m glad it’s you, Marinette.” 

How can she _not_ smile back, seeing that earnest, open look on his face? Marinette reaches up, carefully and softly, pressing her fingers against his cheeks. He leans into her touch. 

“Me too,” she echoes. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [e-milieeee!](https://e-milieeee.tumblr.com/)


End file.
